Within Walls
by lun27
Summary: Only something as ridiculous as a Marriage Law could make Hermione go to prison voluntary. But who did Hermione have to marry to prefer prison instead? Trigger warning inside.


**This story was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition**

 **ROUND 6**

 **Wimbourne Wasps - BEATER 2**

 **September: Hermione Granger**

Optional Prompts:

(object) Sickle

(word) barbarian

(word) striped

word count: 2943

 **A/N: Warnings: mention of self harm, suicide and sexual assault/rape.**

The premise of this story was inspired by Mrs Azkaban by MykEsprit. Read it, it's fantastic!

* * *

The striped prison garment hung loosely from her small frame as she stood in line for dinner.

Hermione stared down her portion that was roughly shoved in her hands. It was some kind of puree that looked to be the same lovely shade of grey as the walls around them. She had quickly learned to keep her head down, so she didn't complain and just headed to her usual place in the far right corner.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Draco had snuck up on her again. Hermione suspected that he was waiting for the day that she would drop her plate in shock, and she was determined not to give him that satisfaction.

"They treat us like barbarians," she grumbled, watching the stodge on her plate wobble with every step as they weaved through the busy dining hall to their seats.

"Most of the people here are."

"The really bad ones are in the high-security ward. They could at least treat _us_ with some respect. Our generation fought in a war for them." Hermione pushed her tray onto their table.

"Not everyone was as heroic as you, Granger," he drawled as he took the seat opposite to hers. "I would bet my last Sickle on the thesis that you are the only one that can be considered a war hero here."

He rolled up his sleeves to prevent them from hanging in his food—if you could call the mash on their plates that. Even on him, the prison garbs were ill-fitting.

Hermione couldn't help but stare at his lower arm, now exposed to her eyes. Fine, ragged lines were etched into the faded Dark Mark on his skin. They matched the washed-out stripes on his clothes. Hermione's mentality had darkened considerably in the last six months for her to find such a perverse fascination with his scars.

When she had first asked about them, he had told her that they treated him better since he had cut up his arm. Hermione heavily doubted that, even though he now had the right to psychological therapy to keep him from further self-harm. She was sure that those sessions weren't the piece of cake he described them as, even though he said so with an easy smile on his lips as if mocking her that she wasn't receiving such treatment. Hermione knew well that the Ministry used archaic methods when it came to treating mental illnesses in Azkaban. Their intention was to make the sessions as unpleasant as possible, so anyone who had mental issues and dared to claim their right for treatment would soon act healthy as a newborn just to be released from the programm.

Hermione fumed at their audacity. _She_ had been the one who had installed the program in the first place to make Azkaban a place people could return from and one day be part of society again.

Access to health care wasn't the only thing they now used against her. She had advocated for offering the prisoners something to occupy their time with. The Ministry had been elated the moment they had realised how much money they could earn by forcing inmates to work over ten hours a day. First, they had been sewing new robes for the Wizengamot, and eventually—after the whole Ministry had been clothed—even for Madam Malkin's .

Forced labour had definitely _not_ been what Hermione had voted for.

Her fingers were sore from sewing all day, and her shoulders felt heavy from leaning over the workbenches.

"So… when are you going to tell me who you refused to marry that was so bad you prefered to go to prison over it?" he asked like he did every day.

"Just because you keep asking me doesn't mean I'll tell you someday," she replied as usual, picking at her food.

He sneered. "Why don't you grant me this little bit of entertainment?"

"Because you'll never let it go, and I'll suffer till the end of my sentence!"

"You get to leave way before me, this isn't fair." He pouted; it was ridiculous.

She decided to ignore him. Making her feel guilty about something she had no influence over was one of his more devious strategies, and she refused to let him get away with it.

"How about we strike a deal?" he asked.

Hermione eyed him skeptically but waved at him to continue.

"I'll get you a book—you know, one of those precious items that you used more frequently than toilet paper back then—and you'll tell me who they wanted you to marry."

She scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Draco. That's insanely expensive." It was. The Ministry made further profit by charging outrageous prices for commodities, such as shampoo that wouldn't cauterise your skin and even for hair brushes. Books were on a whole different level as they fell into the entertainment category and therefore were sold for a hundred times their original price.

He waved her off. "All those shiny Knuts, Sickles and Galleons are rusting away in the Malfoy vaults right now, can as well throw the money out the window as long as I still have my wits about me and my brain hasn't degenerated enough from eating this Troll-bogey every day. One more year, I think, and I'll be sitting in the corner, drooling and rolling my eyes."

She pulled a face when she remembered the Troll that Harry and Ron had knocked out to save her in their first year and how his bogey had looked exactly like the 'food' they were getting here.

"So, what does your heart desire, Granger?" He leaned forward, and for a moment, she couldn't help but imagine devil's horns sprouting from his angelic hair. She wasn't sure if she was ready for a deal with the devil.

"Something on prison breaks would come in handy," she replied drily.

"You're not taking this seriously." He pouted. Again.

"If you ever manage to get your hands on a book in here, I'll eat my overall," she scoffed.

"And then you'll tell me your little secret?"

She wrinkled her nose, refusing to answer.

* * *

"How are you?" Harry asked from behind the magically enforced glass that separated them. He was visiting her every month; that was all the Ministry granted the prisoners.

"The soap is appreciated, Harry." She shrugged. "The guards haven't beaten up anyone in a few days; that's good as well."

He looked at her sadly. "I'm so sorry about this. I wish I could-"

"You can't. It's okay," Hermione cut him short. She couldn't stand his constant pity. She was fine. This was fine. All was _fine_.

"How's Ginny?" She put on a fake smile to steer the conversation to something less depressing.

"Oh, she—well… she's pregnant." He cast his eyes down, his face turning bright red but a smile playing on his lips.

"Congratulations Harry," she said and tried hard to not sound bitter. Of course Harry had gotten someone he actually _wanted_ to marry.

But that was beside the point. Hermione would have refused to comply with the law even if it had been someone she could stand. It was against all her principles, at least that was what Hermione told herself so she wouldn't go insane in Azkaban.

"I feel bad, Hermione. I'm happy, having a child in a few months from now, but you're here." He looked so torn, she wanted to hug him. Hermione missed hugging Harry. He gave the best hugs; he could hold you and hold all your pieces together, because he had craved hugs his whole childhood and had made up for all he had missed since then.

"I wish I could do more, Hermione."

"Rubbish, you did more than I could have ever wished for. It's not as bad in here as it used to be." Harry had done a lot for her; his war hero status still held some kind of influence on the Ministry, and Azkaban had changed a lot since Hermione's first day. Security had drastically improved, especially the security of the inmates, since rules were now enforced with unrelenting rigour. That way, prisoners were better protected from other prisoners as well as the worst of the guards. There had been some rough ones in the beginning, but soon Harry had called for a better selection process, and now they were hand picked security officers with a three-month training.

"And for the rest, I have Draco." She smiled when Harry pulled a face.

"I really can't believe you're—" he wrinkled his nose "—hanging out with that _ferret_."

She grinned, knowing that she would think the same if Harry had been in her place.

"Time's up!" the guard on duty shouted, and the prisoners reluctantly stepped out of their booths.

"I'll see you in October, 'Mione," Harry said, a hand pressed to the glass.

She smiled at him one last time before leaving.

To her surprise, Draco was waiting outside where the second group was lined up to have visitors.

Puzzled, she shot him a questioning glance. "Where are you going?"

"I'm having a visitor, Granger," he said in a patronizing tone, as if she was a little child.

"You don't get visitors, ever," she stated.

He put on a hurt look. "Just because all my friends and family are in Azkaban with me doesn't mean that there's nobody out there that wants to see me," he said. "I've still got lawyers!"

She snorted as he left with a wink.

* * *

"Malfoy," Nott sneered down at where Hermione was sitting with Draco, sewing sleeves onto robes. "I can't believe you're still hanging out with that Mudblood. You've really sunken low." His goons were looming behind him, shooting intimidating glares at them.

Draco didn't even look up at Nott. Hermione marvelled how well he could just play it cool. "Well, _this Mudblood_ is my ticket out of here. As soon as she's leaving this place, she's going to fight tooth and nail to shorten my sentence. I'll send you a greeting card once I'm a free man, Theodore." Draco emphasised his name in a mocking tone.

Nott took a threatening step closer but decided to bug off when one of the guards had sensed potential conflict and steered in their direction. They were quick with painful stinging hexes, and it was wiser to stay out of their way.

Hermione huffed. "You know, if you keep repeating that in front of me, I'll probably forget about you the moment I'm sleeping in my own bed again." Some days she believed that he truly only spent time with her for his own gain, but there were these moments when he just looked at her, and she felt a connection—something good and tender radiating from him that belied those calculated words.

Even if she only imagined that, Hermione rationalised, he deserved getting out earlier for his efforts to make her time in Azkaban more pleasant. Without Draco, some really bad things would have happened to her; like in her first week, when Nott had cornered her in the kitchen where she had washed the dishes after dinner. Hermione still shuddered when she thought of his cold fingers pressing into her flesh, pulling at her overall and the hungry look in his hate-filled eyes. She was the scapegoat for many of the young Death Eaters here, but luckily for her, Draco was never far away and had unexpectedly stood between her and those barbarians since that day.

"Why are you nice to me anyway?" she questioned. "It's not like I'm of much use for you now."

He stared at his hands that worked around the seam of the cream-coloured fabric of a witch's robe. She'd never get used to the image of him working on a sewing machine—a Muggle one that had been charmed to work without electricity. They were efficient if you weren't allowed magic, but their needles hadn't always been magically fixed onto them. Before the guards had bothered with such security measures, Draco had nicked one and slit his arm with it until they had found and restrained him.

He didn't look up at her when he answered: "The moment you came here, I had hope. I knew you always cared for those nobody else wanted to care about…" he trailed off. Then he put on a mock-scowl that belied his somber mood and unusual honesty. "And it's only your fault that I'm here instead of with my father. I'm still working on a revenge plan for that, Granger."

Hermione scoffed. "You mean if I hadn't testified for you at your trial, you would be in the high-security ward now, preparing for the kiss?""

"You tore my family apart, Granger. Don't you feel any guilt?" He grinned.

Hermione shook her head. "Don't joke about that, Draco. Don't-don't put on that facade." She looked at him with sadness churning in her stomach. "Just because you make jokes about it and act as if it doesn't affect you, doesn't mean that the pain will go away. You don't need to put on an act for me. You can be honest, you know? It's okay to be sad."

He smiled at her, but his eyes were distanced. It was his way of dealing with his father being nothing but a soulless shell in the high-security towers of Azkaban. He was the only family Draco had left since Narcissa had hanged herself in her cell. That had been before Hermione's time in Azkaban, just half a year after the war. At that time, she still had fought with the Ministry's legislators for better prison conditions.

Hermione knew that she needed to get Draco out as soon as possible. He was putting on a brave act, but she witnessed him deteriorating more every week. He was thinner than was healthy, his eyes were sunken in his face, but he was still handsome, maybe too handsome for a prisoner.

Before her time, guards had rarely been present except to keep people from escaping. One reason Hermione fought for health care in Azkaban had been the sudden death of two inmates. There had been a lot of violence among prisoners—physical violence… sexual violence.

She really hoped those rumors she had heard Nott joking about weren't true. That they hadn't touched Draco, that he had been far away in another tract from the young Death Eaters who had hated him even before he had sided with her.

* * *

"Happy Birthday, Granger." Draco handed her a package that was covered in simple brown wrapping paper.

"You actually did it." She was so overwhelmed that she was glad to be already sitting at their usual table in the dining hall. "It's really a book? You're not joking?"

"Go on," he urged her. "Open it already." His eyes gleamed with excitement as if it was _his_ birthday and not hers.

Hermione pushed her half-eaten plate aside and ripped off the packaging.

"Oh." She stared at the book in her hands. "How did you… oh, Draco." She threw her arms around his neck. "It's my favourite." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, sniffling quietly.

He rolled his eyes but seemed uncomfortable at her open display of emotion. "That's not exactly a secret; you ran around with that book in Hogwarts all the time."

Hermione smiled fondly as she opened the cover of _Hogwarts: A History_ and skimmed the words of the introduction that were as familiar as a lullaby to her.

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" How she longed to return to those times. Everything had been more simple then. But she also had hated Draco back then, she remembered with a heavy heart. She wouldn't want to go back to that.

"So?" He prodded as he took another spoonful of their dinner that looked suspiciously like cowpads. "Who was it? Who were you supposed to marry and shag until you popped out a dozen babies?"

She looked up at him, her mouth now in a grim line.

"Gilderoy Lockhart."

Draco stared at her, his spoon in his mouth, as if he was still waiting for her to spill the beans. When she didn't say anything else, he blinked a few times and then started coughing violently to free his airway from their horrid meal. "You-You're not joking?" He asked when he could breathe again, pointing his spoon at her as if he was accusing her of lying to him.

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.

The corners of his mouth turned up in mirth as he started laughing and—after a few seconds—full out wheezing while clutching at his stomach .

She hit him over the head. "Stop laughing!"

Draco held up his hands. "I'm sorry-" He stopped himself. "You know what? I'm not sorry, that is hilarious!" He dodged another hit from her. "I earned this, Granger. I got you a book for your birthday!" he said in his defense as he was close to diving under the table for protection.

"You did." She hugged the book to her chest like a small child. "Thank you, Draco. It must have cost a lot…"

"To be honest, I didn't pay a Sickle." He grinned. "Potter was guilty enough about your current situation to sponsor me and bring it to me when he visited last week."

She gaped at him. "You evil, slimy ferret! You did this just so you could have a laugh!"

"I did my part, I never specified that I'd _buy_ you a book!"

Draco started laughing again, and Hermione couldn't stay mad witnessing his unrestrained joy. At least he had something to lighten his mood now. He had been there to lighten hers for long enough to earn this.

* * *

 **Thank you Noori for helping find a title for this :3 Couldn't wait any longer for your cover, but I'll add it after the round is over!**


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